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Thursday, January 23, 2020  

Thursday. Blech.Published 4/9/2007

Everybody moans and groans about Mondays, but I like ‘em. I know that sounds crazy. I know that Friday is the big contender for the favorite day of the week, the traditional one. But, Monday is really my favorite.

First off, after the weekend I feel refreshed, bright, capable and energetic. I have things to talk about. I have hope for the future. I have a whole, long, beautiful week ahead of me. All the time in the world, and a million and one plans! There will be time to do everything that I have planned plus everything I put off from last week.

Tuesdays are fine. Nothing special. Usually nice and busy. I still have a pretty high level of energy. Wednesdays are okay. I may start to drag a little on Wednesday afternoon. I might begin to doubt that I can get everything that I had hoped to accomplish finished, but there is still time.

Thursdays I hate. I despise Thursdays. I wake up late on Thursdays and have to rush. I choose not to wash my hair on Thursdays and tell myself that it will be all right. While I am sleeping the night before Thursday my feet grow just a tiny little bit. Just enough to make all my shoes feel a teensy bit tight. Just enough to mess up my balance a little and just enough that I will underestimate the length of them and spend the whole day kicking chair legs and jostling tables and even tripping occasionally.

Something happens to my teeth on Thursdays and they do not rest easily in my mouth. I stutter on Thursdays and embarrass myself by forgetting common words such as "stopwatch" and "oleander" and, oh, you know . . . that thing we use for the deal when we’re making that stuff. You know.

I will tell you about last Thursday to illustrate my point. It started off late and badly. I had to dig in a laundry basket to find a pair of underpants, because while I did get down to #7 on my To Do list, which was "wash laundry" I did not get to #8, which was "fold laundry."

I got lucky and found a pair. They were even one of my newer, better pairs. The kind that do not actually have elastic at the top and the legs, but are kind of generally stretchy all over. I bought them for vacation, as a splurge. Which is probably an indication of the pathetic state I am in – thinking that stretchy underpants are real, real fancy.

Anyway, they were advertised as something like MagiDrawers, or PerfectPants, or something and were supposed to be smooth and seamless. I do not know why, at the time, I thought I needed smooth and seamless underpants since my legs look like Rand McNally’s map of New Jersey. But, I did.

So, I put on the Stretchy Wonder Britches, threw on some clothes, crammed my feet into my shoes, sped to work, where I said, "Gloof mownig," to my co-workers, tripped on a chair and then got busy.

But there was something wrong. In my tushal vicinity. Great! It’s Thursday! I probably ripped the seat out of my pants when I tripped over the desk chair. I zip to the bathroom, check the seat of my pants which is fine, firm and intact (the seam is, at any rate).

I straighten up, catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and remember suddenly why #9 on my list this week was "wash hair every day," and get back to work.

Thursdays, and this is another reason I hate them, are nightmare days at my job. They are always very busy. By Thursday I am tired and I feel stupid and I do not want to be busy. I kept slogging on bravely through the day. And all day long I felt a funny, odd, not right feeling in the southern hemisphere of my hastily assembled ensemble.

I finally had a chance to do a thorough investigation on my lunch break. The problem seemed to be those stupid stretchy skivvies. They seemed to be fitting strangely. Surely I had not gained that much weight since the last time I wore them. And what is this funny little pocket here on the right hand side. I never noticed it. I mean a pocket on panties is a fine idea for . . . I don’t know . . . your spare house key or something, but I never noticed it before. It doesn’t even match, really. Well, it matches the cotton liner. Oh. Yeah. The cotton liner.

In the words of Rosanne Rosanna Danna, "Never mind." I hate Thursdays.


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